


Star Trek: Federation Food Fair

by CaliforniaBurrito



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Fast Food, Food, Food Fair, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaliforniaBurrito/pseuds/CaliforniaBurrito
Summary: A reviewer reviews the Federation Food Fair and all of the delicious offerings that the Federation has to offer.
Kudos: 8





	Star Trek: Federation Food Fair

As the turbolift door slid open, the sights, smells, and sounds of the Federation Food Fair bombarded me simultaneously. Immediately I was welcomed by the posh voice of a charming bald man. "50 Shades of Earl Grey," his booth read, and before I could swerve away from what analogies and metaphors he’d offer, I heard the clanking of chains and the old man saying, “With the first link, the chain is forged.” I realized what he was doing and so I smirked at him and his lovely tea set and hastily departed to the next stall.

Not far from that strange bald man was the smile of a determined-looking brunette woman who stood with her hands at her sides. She was completely enveloped with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, though I'm not sure what blend. The sample she offered was bitter and dark, very unremarkable coffee to say the least. This was contrasted by her marquee which claimed that the coffee was made from the Crab Nebula. When I questioned her about this, she replied that she had been in the Delta Quadrant and that her crew had gathered the antimatter necessary for their supplies, including coffee, from the Crab Nebula. Matching her wide smile, I left her booth unsatisfied by the fact that I had drunk replicated black coffee without any cream, sugar, or even a hint of craftsmanship.

After mingling through a rather thick crowd, I found myself at the center of their commotion. The large booth was commandeered by a proud husband and wife couple, the husband being a tall, authoritative Klingon man and his wife being a smaller but no less authoritative Trill woman. The couple was distributing pamphlets and presenting videos of themselves preparing their drinks through a choreographed battle. The husband pushed forth a tall glass of prune juice which he proclaimed to have helped him conquer his enemies who ranged from the Borg Collective to the Dominion. The wife presented a small glass cup of a specialty coffee she called Raktajino, which is a Klingon staple her husband supposedly introduced to her on their first date.

This cheery story drew exclamations of adoration from the crowd, but I knew that I need to taste them myself before I’d judge. I downed the sample of prune juice and to my dismay, it almost as quickly came back out. It was one of the worst things I have ever swallowed, and my revulsion was noticed by the other guests as well as the couple. The husband asked me, “What’s the matter?” to which I exclaimed some expletives best not read by the readers of this report. In response, he guffawed, puffed his face up as if he was a Denobulan, flexed his muscular arms and then proclaimed, “It’s a warrior’s drink!” The crowd cheered him in reply, and they then quickly pushed me aside so that they may taste it themselves.

After collecting myself on the counter of the wife’s side of the stall, I noticed a much calmer affair as everyone seemed to be enjoying their cup of Raktajino. Still having the stomach for more, I took a sample and smelled it. The aroma was so overpowering, I couldn’t help but immediately taste it. This was coffee like I had never tasted before. It had a quality unlike any other premium coffees- smooth, sweet, powerful, and with a little kick at the end. I asked the wife how a culture like the Klingons could produce something so beautiful like Raktajino, and she said that despite living on Qo’noS for decades as an ambassador, she still didn’t understand how Raktajino came to be, and said simply, “Such is life!” At this point, I thought I might’ve found a winner already, but I still had quite the trek ahead, and so I pressed forward into the pavilion.

After my foray in prune juice and Klingon coffee, I finally entered the solid foods section of the hall. Not long after entering this portion of the building, the oppressive stench of marijuana overwhelmed me. A sense of nostalgia at Starfleet Academy flooded my brain as I curiously searched for its source, and lo and behold, I found a plain-looking Cardassian man in a well-tailored purple gown joyously peddling marijuana based clothing and foodstuffs. His stall had it all, hemp-based clothing, marijuana-laced edibles, and large quantities of the herb itself, with multiple varieties of course. The nostalgia soon passed and my professionalism returned, and so I refrained from sampling the brownies as it would’ve affected my reporting. After thanking the man and expressing my lack of interest, he uttered out the most canned and flubbed line, “By Cardassia’s, I mean, by the Federation’s hammer, what a savings!” In my head I knew he had gouged the prices massively in order to make a large profit but by then, I had already left.

Perhaps at this point I had a contact high and was feeling hungry as a result, but nonetheless I found myself at a food stall hosted by a very tall and very skinny Kelpian man. I wasn’t familiar with his species then, so when he presented to me some freshly chopped ganglia, I did not realize that I had actually eaten organs harvested from his very own species. It was a wholly unremarkable dish and not very filling so I complimented it, treated him with a smile to which he reciprocated, and moved on. It was not until my editor told me what ganglia was that I felt that overwhelming revulsion towards ganglia that I now feel today. I respect his right to produce and sell the dish, but I can’t support it.

The final stall that I had visited was by far the most empty, as it was decorated with 20th century memorabilia and placed at an inopportune location. The presenter was a tall, eccentric, bald man and he seemed very enthusiastic about getting a visitor. He talked and rambled a bit about an old and bygone sport called “baseball,” to which I nodded in friendly affirmation until he presented to me what was by-far the most delicious experience of the day. A long, skinny, piece of mysterious red meat, sandwiched between two fluffy brown buns that were grilled to perfection, topped with freshly diced onions and slathered with a bright red and yellow paste. I cannot describe its flavors without selling it short, but Sisko’s “hot-dog” was definitely the best food at the fair. Dear readers, please check it out!


End file.
